


Exitus

by figbash



Series: Nagron [16]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Break Up, Heavy Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figbash/pseuds/figbash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A Departure"</p><p>Agron makes a difficult and painful decision.</p><p>(The word Exitus is also used figuratively to mean death.)</p><p>Set mostly during "Separate Paths" (War of the Damned Ep 8)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exitus

Donar's corpse, desecrated by Roman hands, hangs crucified before Agron's eyes. It hits the group of rebels like a second blow, after discovering that Crassus has ambushed them in this camp. The scene has been staged to confront them as a gruesome declaration. The sluggish drip of coagulating blood does not yet obscure the foreboding words that mutilate Donar's flesh.

Mors Indecepta. 

Agron thinks to Nasir, standing guard just outside. In a moment they will be descended upon, and their lives will be in danger once again. His mind flashes to Nasir hanging lifeless, body broken and ruined with the sadistic torture of Roman captors. Agron fills with hatred at the thought. It fuels the bloodlust that drives his sword through the wave of soldiers that spill into the camp.

Agron's hate has consumed him, eaten him from the inside until he is all but hollow. He wakes in the morning and falls to slumber at night with thoughts of blood and battle. What is left of him to offer? Their army holds many who stand as such. Even Naevia's heart has been hardened by pain and rage and suffering, the soft creature of the House of Batiatus buried in the grave of distant memory. Agron imagines Nasir being infected with the same, and it is a fearful thought. He sees how the rare and genuine goodness within Nasir would be poisoned with the rot of him, squandering a life that yet holds promise, for the love of one unworthy man. Agron knows now the glory he seeks will never come, but Nasir would fight at his side till bitter end, and he cannot bear the image. It takes all he can muster to face his own future: an endless stretch of battles until soul is finally spent. A soldier who has outlived purpose.

There was a time long ago when he would have shepherded and tilled land, but no longer. Perhaps the possibility of that happiness had been wrested from him when he was first taken and chained upon the slave ship. Or perhaps it was as Duro lay dying in his arms at the ludus, when a part of Agron died alongside him. He wonders if he had always harbored such thoughts of dark destiny, even when he first looked into Nasir's eyes and felt his heart born anew. Was there ever any escape from this fate? It is futile to consider such things, for now this is the only path for Agron.

He will not speak his name, but there is comfort in the presence of the Cilician. The fire of Agron's rage has been quelled with the thought of Nasir's happiness. He watches them speak together at camp and the undercurrent of attraction is unmistakable, even though Nasir's eyes still seek out Agron from across the grounds. Moments later their eyes meet again, and Agron realizes Nasir can feel the darkness of his thoughts, though he cannot know the terrible confession that awaits him. Agron's gaze lingers before he turns back to duties again.

 

“You are driven to distraction with thoughts of approaching battle?” Nasir is draped over him in their tent, chin resting on Agron's chest. His hands skim over Agron's naked skin idly.

Agron finds an answer that is near enough to the truth. “I can think of little else.”

“The days grow long. Fatigue has etched into faces of all.”

“There is nothing that could mar one such as yours,” Agron tells him, and this is the truth from his heart. He watches Nasir and wonders how anyone could be so beautiful, how Nasir's body could fit so perfectly against his own. The gods have carved their forms for this purpose, to lie together like two missing halves. But Nasir is a treasure, and Agron feels acutely how deserving he is of brighter future.

Agron's hand pulls at the black ribbon behind Nasir's head, freeing it and placing it aside. A smile grows on Nasir's face as Agron loosens the braided hair, fingers combing through with the gentlest touch. Nasir closes his eyes and tilts his head into the ministrations.

“My weary General...it is I who should be soothing,” he teases.

Agron's fingers continue their work until black ink tresses spill in soft waves over Nasir's shoulders. Nasir raises his chin and their lips meet in slow considering kisses. The love that glows warmly between them rends Agron's heart so sharply that he feels tears threaten. He closes his eyes to keep them at bay, but soon worry falls away and he is lost in Nasir's mouth. 

Neither of them is mindful of the passing time, but at last Nasir breaks away, pressing a hand to Agron's cheek. “Your attentions are not often paid to lips alone.” His eyes are searching again for half a moment, but find yet nothing to confirm the worry that lurks so far beneath the surface. 

“I have shifted form to gentle beast, this night.”

Nasir presses his forehead and nose to him with affection. He breaks into a smile that is both secret and bewitching.

 _"Gentle or savage, I would have your hands upon me.”_

They begin to kiss again as the words spur Agron to purpose. His hands slip to Nasir's hip bones, gripping them firmly as the beginnings of his arousal slide against Nasir's ass. Agron sits up, a strong palm at the small of Nasir's back as Nasir winds his arms around his neck.

The sigh from Nasir's lips is like honey. The sweetness sends a tremor down Agron's spine, curls electric in his stomach, heats his skin in an instant. Agron's mouth moves over the angles of Nasir's jaw, the thick cords of his neck. He lingers over the pulse below Nasir's ear. 

The heartbeat is everything to him: Nasir's strength, his spirit and his love. Agron thinks that he would die a thousand deaths before allowing this pulse to still, would move heaven and earth to see Nasir to freedom beyond the horror of this war. He does not know if the rebels will conquer Rome, but he knows he must protect those who truly deserve escape. It is a promise Agron makes to himself as his hands caress the shapes of Nasir's body, worshipful.

Then Agron is pressing steadily into the heat of him, joining their bodies, for what they both seek. Nasir exhales a shaky breath, arms tightening around Agron's neck, accepting the twin sensations of pain and pleasure. A moment of stillness takes them once Agron reaches the heart of him. They breathe together, eyes locked, until Nasir slips his own shut and begins slow movement. The muscles of Nasir's back flex together in gorgeous fluid motion as his body takes Agron's cock again and again. Agron's hands wander from back to hips to ass, watching Nasir's face as the pleasure runs through him, drinking in the sight. 

Nasir rises and falls in Agron's lap, the muscles of his thighs straddling him tightly. To be inside of him is a feeling Agron cannot describe, but it rules him utterly, and he is enveloped in the throes of it. Nasir's movements draw him out until Agron takes control, seizing his hips. Nasir breathes hard, relinquishing rhythm. He submits to the dominance of Agron's body, lets Agron have him in every way. It rouses Agron like nothing else to see how much Nasir melts for him. Agron fucks him until Nasir is gasping, wet strands of hair across his face, falling apart as he is overtaken. Nasir throws his head back and his body is one beautiful arc as he comes, the nails of one hand digging hard into Agron's shoulder as he leans on the other behind him.

Agron releases himself until all of him is drained, pressing his moan to Nasir's chest, hiding the moisture in his eyes. He cradles Nasir to him, clinging to each moment, but it will never be enough. Agron knows now that this will be the last, and he will be left forever wanting, so he drowns himself in the scent of Nasir, the feel of his body, the taste of his skin. Nasir's fingers stroke the back of Agron's head; gentle, soothing, loving.

 _“Agron,”_ Nasir says to him softly, simply, and it cuts Agron's heart to pieces.

 

The joyous mood feels foreign to Agron as he leans against the wall of the villa they have taken. He is an island of solemn stillness in the bacchanalia of laughing, drinking and fucking. Agron knows that many of them will fall to their deaths tomorrow. Life in the ludus was not unlike this. The gladiators too had gorged themselves on whatever they could grasp of life's pleasures, before marching off to face a violent end in the arena. Agron has grown weary of the cycle.

His face is set as he waits for Nasir to find him in the crowd. When he appears, Nasir is radiant with happiness. It is as though he can already imagine setting foot in the lands beyond the Alps, building a life together in freedom. Agron is stung with the shame of crushing such hopes, staring down at the wine he does not drink.

When Agron speaks to Nasir it is as though he is no longer in his body. He hears the terrible words fall from his mouth and can hardly believe he is saying them. Nasir's confusion turns to fear, then anger. Agron's will is stone even with the pain and tears in Nasir's eyes, even when Nasir begs for them not to be parted. Still Nasir embraces him with love when it becomes clear he cannot sway him. Agron watches Nasir's back disappear into the crowd as Nasir leaves him, knowing he can never be forgiven for this, accepting it as price paid.

Nasir is not by his side when Agron lays down to sleep. It is the dead of night when the familiar body presses back against him. They do not break words at all, but lie still together in helpless silence. Agron can only clasp Nasir tightly as he feels the fear and sadness and regret weigh heavily upon him. The wetness of Nasir's bitter tears stain the pillow, but they are dry by morning, and Nasir is gone before Agron wakes.

The last sight Agron will ever see of him is from across the courtyard. Nasir senses him as he always does, and turns to him with a face of sorrow mingled with anger. For a moment they hold a gaze, and they are the only two people on the earth. Agron gives him a tiny smile, then turns away from Nasir for the last time.

 

A long series of battles builds momentum behind Crixus' group as they fight their way towards Rome. The victories have been intoxicating, and their army grows increasingly bold as they progress. Agron thinks that there is nothing sweeter than seeing the succession of Roman legions fall before them in defeat. The rebels are punishing a deep injustice under which they have all suffered, and they are _winning_ against their former tormentors. Agron catches sight of Naevia as she embraces Crixus with joy and love, and his heart twists just a little in his chest. There is one thing that stands sweeter than any victory, but it is no longer Agron's to hold.

Then at last they are within sights of Rome, with only Arrius' small army standing between the rebels and the city itself. It is thrilling to think that they could be within its walls by tomorrow's nightfall. Agron wonders if that ultimate glory might yet be within reach, after Crixus lands the killing blow to Arrius. The rebels raise their weapons to the sky in elation, but the horns of Crassus' arriving army break through air, and suddenly the battle is thick around them again. 

Agron pushes his body to its limit, cutting down the endless stream of soldiers that descend from higher ground. He can feel the dramatic shift of the battle. The sheer numbers of Crassus' army are turning the tide, and soon Crixus' forces will be crushed under heel. Out of the corner of his eye, Agron sees a bloody sword impale Brictius from the back of his neck through his open mouth. It is Caesar himself who has committed the deed. Agron turns and yells his name over the din. There will be no triumph of taking Rome, Agron knows with certainty, but he would face the man who betrayed them once more. Even the glory of that is stolen from him, as he is blindsided by the sword of Tiberius, slicing a vicious wound across Agron's chest.

The last thing Agron feels is the hard unyielding earth as he falls to it, his vision black, a river of hot blood over his skin and in his mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **BAM!!** Let's open this fuckin' fic with Donar's mutilated crucified corpse and end it with Agron bleeding out on the battlefield! *plays Metallica guitar riff* Yeeeahhh! Haha
> 
> If you need an ending that's a bit more uplifting, [Reditus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2010702) (A Returning) is the companion to this fic, set around "The Dead and the Dying" (Ep 9.)
> 
> I had to get some other Nagron stories under my belt before attempting to write one that was heavy like this. It was a nice challenge trying to unpack what was going on in Agron's head when he decides to leave Nasir. The first time I watched Separate Paths, I was really angry at his foolishness, but I think I now have more respect for what Agron was trying to do, even if I still don't agree. I appreciate that the show's writers made it a complex issue, rather than giving Agron a single simplistic motivation for his actions.
> 
> So much love for Nasir's hongi. I had to put one in there <3


End file.
